Shot through the heart. All in the name of love…

Caledon Hockley tried to not show how much his hands trembled holding onto a piece of paper, decorated with the charcoaled drawing of his naked fiancee. His fiancee. The stunning redhead that he had tried so damned hard to cultivate into the perfect bride. Had given so much to. It was as though someone had thrown him into an endless dark abyss without a warning. Falling from a great height without knowing of what could greet him. Lovejoy floated past, and raised his eyebrows in anticipation for a response to his question. They had been checking if anything was missing; had the gutter rat that Rose had obviously naively trusted and fetched back to their stateroom taken the diamond, taken money, or even convinced his fiancee to run away with him? No…

This had been her idea. Cal knew that much. It was written all over the drawing itself. Her posture was one of confidence, of a woman who had very little concern about what the man she was meant to marry would think of such a drawing. It was disgusting. He couldn't help though, to allow his eyes to drag across the finery of the work, the way in which her beauty was captured and then, of course, her body was beyond ravishing. The body that he had wished to see in all its glory for months on end, but she was the one shutting him out. He had believed it was shyness, lack of knowledge and that once they had wed, she would be in his bed each and every night. Flesh to flesh, one to one…

Now though, there was no doubt that she was ruined, if not in body then at least in mind. Dawson would have had his hands all over her…

Crimes of passion ruled his head and Rose had left her mark at the scene of the crime. Dawson had left his mark on Rose.

Cal felt a loose piece of paper behind the drawing and pulled it forth to read the crippling words.

Darling,

Now you can keep us both locked in your safe.

Rose.

Damnit! It was a stab at him. A laugh at his expense. Oh, how she and Dawson would be off, running and squealing in delight at escaping Lovejoy's chase and running deep into the depths of the ship. He had already instructed stewards to be off looking for any signs of them. There was already an offence committed; the pair of them had last been seen running through the crew quarters. When Lovejoy had pulled him from the Smoking Room to inform him that she had been with Dawson in their stateroom, he had thought they had perhaps stolen something. Ruffled a few feathers. But this…this was a true stab through his heart. Pulling the drawing to his chest, he felt like tearing it into a thousand pieces, as anger thrashed its way through his veins. He found he couldn't. One last glance at the drawing inspired a grand idea. The necklace.

''I have a better idea.''

''Enlighten me.'' Lovejoy stepped closer, the drawing catching his beady eyes. He was a tall man, thorough in his search and damned worth every penny paid for his services. As honest as he was, Cal had also found him to be a great liar as well. ''What is missing?''

''Only my fiancee's clothing or so it seems.''

Slamming the drawing and the note into Lovejoy's chest, he had only one peek at it before deeply frowning to Cal.

''What do you have in mind?''

''Dawson took nothing, but what if he had took the diamond?''

''He would certainly be arrested, taken into police custody and be sentenced for a very long time. Your lady would certainly never see him again, nor should she want to.''

''My lady.'' Cal laughed, as he poured himself a liberation and almost choked into it with his own laughter. She was no lady.

''Mr. Hockley, she certainly was a pistol all along.''

And she shot me through the heart with betrayal, Cal wished to shout aloud but refused to give such satisfaction. ''Indeed.''

''You can handle her. She needs the firm hand.''

''Yes, I should have taken that road all along.'' Necking his brandy, Cal went to the safe, cursing himself for ever giving her the combination before selecting the box containing the world's most priceless diamond.

''We inform the Master at Arms that I have been robbed. They shall find the culprit and return Rose to me, no doubt Dawson will be with her.''

''You intend to frame him?''

''I do.'' Cal could only smile through the whirlpool which had formed in his stomach. The necklace sparkled in the light. Sickness rose in his throat, knowing that she had worn this across her naked throat, baring her body to that rat…

''It may not work.''

''If it doesn't then I shall find another way to ensure that he never sets foot near my fiancee again.''

The determination which swam about inside of his stomach was causing the sickness to subside. The brandy's taste gave way for him to require another. Lovejoy never touched liquor; always ready to be as sharp as a tack and for that Cal respected the man more.

''He will return with Miss. DeWitt Bukater, no doubt of that but may I offer another idea?''

''Please.''

''If the diamond was in his possession then it would ensure his life would be spent rotting behind bars.''

Cal glanced up from the decanter of brandy, craning his neck to see Lovejoy's impasse face. ''You could ensure it to be found in his possession?''

''Mr. Hockley, I have dealt with such matters for almost thirty years. Men like that deserve such a fate. What good could be possibly bring to the world?''

''Certainly none to mine.'' Cal dared a glance towards the drawing which Lovejoy had placed upon the wooden table in the sitting room. Upon closer inspection, the entirety of the furniture had been arranged. Together, Dawson and his fiancee had casually created a romantic space in which she had removed her clothes, bared her naked body and no doubt-cavorted-in some way with the Devil. The drawing had been planned, at least in Rose's mind. She would have been the one to cultivate such a daring notion, but acting upon it, had become an entirely different thing.

Locked in your safe. Did she feel locked away? By him?

''Dawson will not see New York City, Mr. Hockley, rest assured.''

Cal took back the rest of the brandy before treading the soft carpet of the sitting room and heading towards the room which Rose had occupied since the start of the voyage, the bedroom which adjoined his own. Lovejoy followed, slowly.

''They ran through here.''

Rose's bed was made, just as it had been that morning. Clearly, it had not been used in such a way. Her clothes, however, were strewn across the various chairs. Undergarments were ripped, as though she had struggled out of them without the aid of her maid. Upon the ornate dressing table at which he had presented her with the necklace just two evenings before, sat her engagement ring. It sparkled in its solitude beneath the glittering lamps and that was the driving force behind the blow. It was as though someone had shot him straight through the heart.

Would she have been content to see him wounded?

Would she be content to play little games?

After everything that he had done for her, this would be the curtain call.

''Lovejoy, go wake Mrs. DeWitt Bukater and inform her of Rose's absence. Once she is awake, we shall fetch the Master at Arms.''

''Yes, sir.''

For just a moment, Cal stood alone in the centre of the bedroom. On sailing day, together, they had stood in this very room and he had whispered the fateful words. I shall still be the first. The first and only, forever. He had meant that. He would have crawled between the fresh linen, between her legs and ensured that he was the only man to ever touch her.

''Damnit all to Hell.'' Cal dusted away the melancholia, the sentimental feelings which he had once believed to have gathered for her and shoved them as far away as he could. This would be like a game at the card table, or roulette. Dawson was caught up in a game that he could never win.

Cal always won. One way or another.